


The Torturer

by lollyb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollyb/pseuds/lollyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel meets the prison torturer and he reminds him of someone he used to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Torturer

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic I have posted, please be kind!

Castiel looked at the man sitting across from his desk, his legs pushed to the side as if they were just a little too long for the room. Dean Winchester. His face was a too delicate for his tastes, large green eyes roaming around the room fingers tapping on the arm of his chair. If he didn’t know any better he would think the man was nervous. Something in him wanted to reach out and reassure him, ruffle his fingers through the slightly too short hair, try to make him laugh. That wasn’t what they were here for though; Winchester was no Alfie though something about the crinkles at the side of his eyes reminded him of the boy he used to know. It had never taken more than a finger poking at his ribs to get Alfie squirming and giggling and retaliation was never far behind, something that had got them in trouble more times than he would like to admit. He shook his head to clear it; he doubted this man had ever been kicked out of church for inappropriate behaviour. His hands were used to darker things.

 

‘So,’ he cleared his throat nervously, ‘You are the torturer, am I correct?’

Winchester started and focused on Castiel, making a slight face which quickly smoothed into a neutral expression. Yes, this was someone who had definitely had contact with his father; never let them see what you are really thinking. He could use more practice though, his feelings were written all over his face.

‘Yeah’ he drawled his voice deep and low, ‘the best this place has ever had.’

If the man was trying to scare him he was barking up the wrong tree but he was good, Castiel could admit. All traces of nervousness had disappeared and a lesser person would have felt pinned like a butterfly under his gaze. Castiel let his own uncertainty drop away and leaned forward in his chair.

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he growled and squinted at him, ‘you have someone this afternoon, I’ll be sitting in.’

He looked confused for a second and then nodded, the blank look back on his face. Another one who thought he was just a pawn for his father, a face in an office, a silly little boy playing a role. He would learn.

 

A knock sounded on the door of his office, just as Castiel was finishing his lunch. Before he could say anything Winchester sailed in looking smug.

‘The prisoner awaits milord,’ it seemed like he had decided to be cheerful this afternoon. Castiel had no doubt that Winchester thought he would be running screaming from the torture room before the session was ended but he was sick of being treated like a joke and it would end today. He stood and stalked past Winchester leaving the man to dart forward and lead the way to the torture room. On the way he kept trying to make conversation but Castiel could stop that kind of thing with a look. He’d had years of practice. Since Alfie had been removed years ago there had been nobody worth his time. People tended to think he was stupid or a snob and he was happy to let them. If you let people in, they let you down, they left you. Better to not let them in at all. He didn’t expect an oaf like Winchester to understand that.

 

On entering the room he flung himself into a chair in the corner before looking around properly. He’d been in the room before when he was touring the prison so he was familiar with the innocuous plain white walls lined with cabinets, the chair in the centre. This was the first time with a prisoner though. The man was dirty, hair long and straggling, evidence of past tortures plain on his shirtless body. His head hung forward and although his arms were strapped down along with his legs he could detect a slight tremor in his fingers. Winchester must have some skill then if the man was already trembling with fear.

 

Castiel knew this man had been accused of being a spy for another kingdom and fomenting rebellion against his father. So far he had spilled secrets that he knew but had given no indication whether he had passed them on or not. Today the aim was to get the names of any accomplices.

Winchester started off with a punch to the face. Castiel was surprised but he supposed that he had worked over this man before; he knew what would work and what would not. It looked like sweet talking was not on the agenda. The man groaned and tipped his head back against the chair, eyes closed and a trickle of blood visible at his mouth. Winchester sent an appraising look his way. If he thought Castiel was affected by this he was wrong, he had seen people punched before. He had had plenty of it himself. If Winchester thought it was all roses being the youngest stepson of the King he was far mistaken.

 

He watched over the next half an hour as Winchester worked him over. He mainly used his fists with the occasional score of a knife. The man was crying by this time, begging him to stop which against his determination was starting to get to Castiel. He wanted to shout ‘stop!’ but the prisoner was yet to give them anything useful. His frustration built with Winchester also. He had heard that he was the best, most inventive torturer the kingdom had ever had but Castiel had yet to see any evidence of it. He was sick of this, the man’s cries were pitiful and for some reason they made him feel like crying himself.

‘Enough!’ he roared eventually, throwing himself from his chair. He grabbed Winchesters knife and stabbed it down through the prisoner’s hand, so hard it stuck into the arm of the chair beneath him. ‘Tell us who your accomplices were and end this now.’

 

The prisoner jerked his head back to look at Castiel in the face for the first time. He heard an indrawn gasp of breath form Winchester but he couldn’t spare him a glance, all he had eyes for was the man in front of him. The prisoner looked at him with fresh tears in his eyes, a disbelieving expression crossing his face.

‘Cas?’ the man croaked out.

Castiel reached a hand slowly forward and pushed the greasy strands of hair out of his face. His hand shook and he dropped to his knees. It wasn’t possible.

‘Alfie?’ He barely knew whether he actually spoke or his mouth just moved with the shape of a word he had said joyfully so many times before. He turned his head to look at Winchester who was staring at him in confusion. Shaking his head he looked down. He knew his father, he knew this prison, dear lord he knew Alfie. There was only one way this was going to go. He looked back up at Alfie with tears in his eyes.

‘I’m so sorry’ this time sure it could be heard. He pushed himself to his feet and pulled the knife from Alfie's hand, punishing himself with a fresh scream from the man who was once his world. He bent and placed a kiss on lips covered in blood.

‘Sorry’ he repeated and with one great push, stabbed up through the all too visible gaps in his ribs and ended Alfie there.

 

He stumbled into the corner and sank to the floor, holding the knife loosely in his hand and staring up at Winchester who was looking between Alfie and Castiel in horror.

‘Cas’ he shouted, ‘Cas! What’s going on?’ Castiel wondered absently if he even realised he was using that name for him. The one only Alfie had ever called him. It didn’t matter; it was possible nothing was ever going to matter again.

‘He was never going to talk, better to end it now.’ He felt himself choking with tears he hadn’t shed for years and let them all go. His body convulsing again and again until he barely knew where he was. What had he done? What was he? What had they made him? In the end all he was aware of were strong arms around him and a quiet humming and he sank into them wishing for it all to end.


End file.
